


Unto the Whateverth Generation

by AstroGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Demon Summoning, First Kiss, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, POV First Person, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: When your family has been unsuccessfully trying to summon a demon for generations, it's bound to be a little bit of a shock when he actually shows up.  Especially for the demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Past Crowley/OCs
Comments: 57
Kudos: 403
Collections: Outstanding Outsider POVs, Trope Bingo: Round Fifteen





	Unto the Whateverth Generation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Trope Bingo, for the prompt "Rites of Passage/Coming of Age," although I think it ended up being tropey in some entirely different ways. I feel like I channeled my inner teenager for this one in more ways than one. But, hey, maybe that's not a bad thing for this particular prompt?

Okay, so, my family has this... tradition, I guess you'd call it. A rite of passage kind of thing.

Or they did. I guess I can't really say they _do_ anymore, since I'm the only one left. Unless I have kids someday, which... Well, never say never, but that's not something that's all that easy to imagine. Not because I have some weird genes I'd be passing along, although I totally do. Maybe just because it's hard to even think about being that old and making a decision that big.

Anyway. The tradition goes like this: after a girl in my family (or my mum's family, if you want to be specific about it) has her first period, or after a boy's voice starts to break, it becomes their turn to go down into a nice dark cellar and try to summon our demon ancestor.

Yeah, that's right. Demon ancestor. Apparently my four-or-five-times-great-grandmother Elizabeth – my mum kind of lost count of the greats – once got down and dirty with a denizen of Hell, and my three-or-four-times-great-grandfather was the result. She wrote all about it in her diary, using a lot of weird euphemisms that are pretty clearly code for things like, "and then I rode some demon dick all night, and it was brilliant, did you know demons can get it up again immediately after they're done if you ask them nicely?" There's also a picture she did of the demon, but she wasn't much of an artist, to be honest, plus it's pretty obvious that someone else came in later with a different color pen and drew the horns and the tail on.

I always figured she was probably making it all up. Or at least the demon part. Probably not the shagging some redhead all night and getting preggers part, especially since the hair color does run in our family. The snake eyes, not so much. Well, I did hear some interesting stories about my great-uncle Albert. He was kind of a pothead, though, so that might have explained the sunglasses.

But whether any of them believed it or not, at the appropriate time, all the kids did this little demon-summoning ritual. Of course, the demon never showed, but everybody thought it was a fun, quirky thing to do, and a nice excuse for a party. Like some kind of Satanic bar mitzvah.

I never got to see it happen myself. Never had any brothers or sisters or cousins or anything. But my mother would talk about it all the time. She'd make stupid jokes about it, talk about buying demon-themed Halloween decorations for my party and making me a devil's-food cake.

Fuck, I miss her. 

Which is maybe why I decided to do the ritual, even though by the time I finally got my period, she and my dad had both been dead for almost three years. (Listen, you want _real_ evil? Take it from me, it isn't demons. It's people who drink and drive. I have it on good authority that the person who killed them is, in fact, rotting in hell now. Maybe not for that. I didn't ask, and I don't care. It makes me happy to think about it, anyway.)

I was back in the orphanage again by that point. (They never call it an orphanage, of course, but, come on, we all know that's what it really is.) I never lasted all that long in foster care. Not that I was ever a bad kid, not really. Never hurt anybody, never bullied the littler kids, mostly actually tried to learn things in school. But I've always been a little too prone to mouthing off, to not doing what I'm told. I actually had a foster mum tell me once that I was a nasty little devil, when I wouldn't lie to social services about what she did with the money they gave her. "Nah," I told her, "I'm only part devil." Makes a handy excuse for things, really. Not cleaning my room? Dumb but hilarious pranks gone wrong? Talking back to adults when they tell you to shut up and do things you know are stupid, or wrong, or both? Can't help it. Part demon!

Anyway, the last family, like the ones before them, decided I was more trouble than I was worth and kicked me out, so I had to use the orphanage cellar for the ritual. We're not supposed to be able to get in there, technically, but, hey, I can't help breaking and entering, either, right? Part demon!

I didn't need very much to do it. Candles and chalk, easy enough to get. The knife I stole from the kitchen. There's never any decent food there, but at least they have knives. All the instructions for the ceremony were there in the diary, courtesy of lots of research by my however-many-greats-gran, who never stopped trying to get him to come back, not until the day she died. I used to joke to myself that that demon must have been _really_ good in bed, although that feels sort of weird to think about now that I've met him.

Because, yeah. A hundred and sixty years later, and he finally showed up to the party.

I didn't do anything special. Nothing any of my ancestors didn't do, I'm pretty sure. I just lit the candles and chalked the chalk and chanted the chants, and let the drops of my blood fall into the circle like the diary said, and through it all I felt... I don't know. Like I was honoring my mum, maybe, stupid as that sounds. Like, it was something we were always going to do together, so I was going to do it with her even if she wasn't here. Even if it was weird and stupid and likely to get me into yet another round of trouble if anybody found out.

When it was all done, I felt good about it, but also kind of sad and kind of awkward, which I guess is about what I should have expected. I stood there afterward, looking at the circle and the little drops of my blood inside it, and thinking, well, there, okay, I've done it. At least I've proved I'm still part of my family even if my family doesn't exist anymore, and that's something, right?

And then, fuck me if an actual demon wasn't suddenly just _there_ , in the circle. Right there in the musty, smelly orphanage cellar, between the boxes of Christmas decorations nobody ever bothers putting up and the ancient pinball machine that was the only actual game in the games room until it finally broke last year.

He looked just like the picture, that was the first thing I noticed, only not as badly drawn, and without the horns or the tail. He also looked surprisingly like a normal bloke. Or a slightly odd-looking bloke, at most: ridiculously skinny, hair even redder than mine, dark clothes of the kind not-really-cool people wear when they're trying to look cool, and a small, loopy snake tattoo on the side of his face. 

Oh, and he also had slitted yellow eyes. That's how I knew he actually _was_ a demon and not, like, my multi-great-gran's time-traveling boyfriend, or whatever. (What? Like that's less likely than a demon?)

He was holding a glass of wine, which spilled and put the candles out, and a bowl of popcorn, which he dropped all over the circle. 

He looked at me, and he said, "What the _fuck_?"

And I looked at him and I said, "What the _fuck_?!"

And that's how I met my four-or-five-times-great-granddad, the demon.

After we got our mutual WTFs out of the way, he started looking around at the chalk and the candles and the spilled popcorn and the blood, and he said, "Did... did yousummon me? Is this a _summoning_?," like he couldn't believe it.

"Uh, yeah, I guess?" I said. And followed it up with, "Hi?" Which, okay, not very smooth, but let me reiterate: _I just summoned my demon granddad into an orphanage cellar_. I wasn't exactly at my clear-headed best. 

He ran his hands through his hair and said, "Oh, I don't believe this, I just do not believe this." And then his mobile rang.

He yelped, and swore, and fished the thing out of his pocket, even though I'd be prepared to swear there wasn't room in his painted-on skinny jeans for a mobile. And then he said, "'Sorry, gotta take this" and answered it.

He didn't put it on speaker, so I didn't hear very much of the person on the other end, but he held it out from his ear a bit once or twice, and I could tell the voice coming out of it was pretty agitated.

"Hi, angel!" the demon said. "I'm okay. No. No. I'm _fine_ , angel, I swear. I'm in..." He looked up at me. "Oi! Where am I?"

Tempted as I was to be a smartass, I didn't push my luck by saying something like, _in the cellar, duh_. "Leicester," I answered instead.

"Leicester," he said into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, no, it's fine." He craned his head around, looking down at the floor. "I'm in some kind of summoning circle, but I spilled wine all over it, so I shouldn't have a problem getting out. Yes, I know. I _know_. I'll buy you a new bottle. Promise. No. No, it's just a kid. Just one kid. It's fine. _No_ , she doesn't have any holy water!" He looked over at me, nervously. "I don't see any holy water."

"I don't have any holy water," I said.

"She doesn't have any holy water," he told the phone. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No, I don't know. I have no idea! _No._ Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_. Because you can't _drive,_ angel. You leave the Bentley where it is. I'll take the bus back. No, I can't come back through the phone lines. Because I can't take the _phone_ through the phone lines. How would that even make sense? Yes, I _know_ what you think of mobile phones. I'm not leaving it." He looked over at me, rolled his slitty yellow eyes, and made a "yak, yak, yak" gesture with his hand. But he had a fond expression on his face while he did it. "Well, hit the pause button. The _pause_ button, angel. On the remote. Yes. Yes, the remote. It's the button with the two lines. The up-and-down lines! Whaddaya call it? Vertical. Two vertical... Oh, come on, there aren't _that_ many buttons. Look, just watch the rest of the film without me. Yes, it's fine. You can tell me how it comes out. Really. It's fine. Look, I'm hanging up now. I'll get a bus. I'll see you in a couple of hours. Okay? Yes, yes, fine, okay. Good- _bye_." 

He hung up, made a funny face at the phone, and stuck it back into a pocket where it still obviously couldn't fit. Then he looked at me. "Where can I get a bus?" he said.

"You're a demon," I said. Because none of the million other things I wanted to say seemed able to come out of my mouth.

"Well spotted." Carefully, tentatively, as if dipping a bare toe into a chilly-looking swimming pool, he poked one foot outside the now smudgy, popcorn-strewn circle. Nothing seemed to happen, so he grinned and stepped all the way out. "Waste of good wine, but worth it. Who wants to hang around in summoning circles? For that matter, who even _does_ summoning circles anymore?"

"My... my family does?" I managed. "Did."

He looked down to where old Granny Elizabeth's diary lay on the floor, open to the recipe for the ritual. "Oh, I see. Family heirloom demonology book, eh? Yeah, I'll just be taking that. Don't worry. I'll give it a good home." He scooped it up and tucked it under his arm. "Right. That the exit, then?" He gestured towards the cellar door with his chin. "Fantastic. I'll just be going. And, kid? Don't ever try this again. Next time you might get something much, _much_ worse than me."

He started towards the door, and, without even thinking about it, I grabbed his arm.

He stopped and looked at me. He didn't seem angry or anything. Just surprised. "Oh," he said. "Come on. Don't make me get all... demony. Really, don't. I'm meant to be retired."

I tried to release him. At least, I think I did. But somehow my hand wouldn't let go. "But I'm your granddaughter!" I blurted out. "Your great-great-something... We're _family_." And somehow my eyes were filling up with tears and...

Look. My mum should have been there, all right? My dad should have been there. But all I had washim, even though he shouldn't have existed, and he was _leaving_. 

His eyes got big and very, very yellow, and he went a little pale. "No," he said. "No. _What?_ No!"

He turned the diary over in his hands and looked at the name on the front. And he collapsed against the cellar wall, looking stunned.

**

He sat there and read the whole diary, front to back while I stood there, wondering if there was something I ought to be doing, but completely unable to figure out what it was. Finally, I went and cleaned up the popcorn. There was a little bit still in the bowl, so I ate it.

When he finished reading, he asked me some questions. About the diary, about my family, about what this place was and what happened to my parents and what my life was like.

Then he stood up, pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the same pocket the phone shouldn't have fit into and put them on his face.

And then we got on a bus.

**

We rode in silence for a while, because, really, what the hell do you say in a situation like that?

Finally, I said, "They're going to notice I'm gone."

And he said, "No, they're not." For some reason, it didn't even occur to me not to believe him.

We rode in silence for another while.

I said, "Who was that on the phone? Your..." From what little I'd heard, it had sounded like a guy. Probably. "Boyfriend?" I tried.

That got a weird sort of flinch out of him. "Nah," he said, super-duper-extra-casual. "Just a friend." He stopped, and his face did several more strange and interesting things. "Oh, Satan," he said. Although it was more like a groan. "What am I going to tell him?"

"Is he another demon?" This was starting to seem really interesting, in a weird supernatural soap-opera kind of way. (As opposed to the weird ways in which it was _already_ interesting, obviously.) "Did you cheat on him with my great-whatever-gran?"

" _No!_ " There was a _lot_ of denial in that "no."

"Oh, god, you totally did."

"It's complicated! And, no, I didn't. We were never..." He waved a hand, like he wasn't even sure how to complete that sentence, like the end of it was just unthinkable. "You know."

"Is he going to be upset?"

"I have no idea _what_ he's going to be. Can we just go back to riding in silence?"

So we did. 

I picked the diary up off his lap and re-read the bit about how he and my ancestor "experienced the infernal transcendence of mortal flesh made unholy in the embrace of the damned." She did say once in there that he kinda seemed like maybe he wished she was someone else.

He very carefully looked out the window, or at his phone, or at the ceiling of the bus. Everywhere except down at the book.

I wanted to ask him, what is hell like? Is it awful, being a demon, or is it fun? Was impregnating Granny Elizabeth part of some kind of weird _Rosemary's Baby_ thing, or just an accident because they didn't have decent birth control in eighteen-whatever? And why don't I have any cool demonic powers? Why didn't my mum? What good is being part-demon if you can't even keep yourself from dying in the stupidest and most pointless way ever? 

Instead of any of that, I just said, "I'm sorry I interrupted your movie night."

He made a strange little noise that didn't seem to have any vowels in it, but it sounded like it meant, "That's all right, don't worry about it."

I wondered if he was always this... this not-very-evil... with everybody, or only with people he was related to. Or sharing transcendent infernal embraces and/or movie nights with.

**

Eventually, we got to London, which was a little surprising, because the sign on the bus said Birmingham. 

His phone rang sometime after we entered the city.

"Hi, yeah. Nearly back. What? No, I thought I'd go to my flat first. Well, it's late. Yes. No. Yeah, you're right." He looked... annoyed? As if he'd just been verbally outmaneuvered? "Fine. We'll be there soon. What? I didn't say 'we.' No, I didn't. NNNnnnrrrrgggh, listen, when I get there, we'll talk. Fine. Bye."

He leaned forward and banged his head on the seat in front of him.

"I really didn't have to come," I said. "If it's going to make trouble for you. I mean, you're the one who insisted."

"It's fine," he said. "It's _fine_. Just... let me think what I'm going to say to him."

Is it weird that I felt kind of bad for him? I found myself putting a hand on his shoulder, and was a little surprised when he didn't shrug it off.

Finally, the bus pulled up outside a bookshop, the only stop it had made for the entire trip, and the door opened. He stood up.

"What, here?"

"Yep."

"Your boyfriend lives in a bookshop?"

"He's not... Look are you coming or not...?" He trailed off, as if unable to quite find the end of that sentence. "What's your name?"

I decided not to be offended that he hadn't asked before. After all, I hadn't asked his name, either. "Ava."

He snorted like I'd said something funny. "Figures. Oh, uh... Right. Crowley. Hi."

She hadn't mentioned his name in the diary. It was always just "the demon," when it wasn't something weirder and flowerier, like "my hellfire paramour." But... "Oh. Dude. She named her baby after you."

He just stood there for a moment, and I realized that, under his glasses, his eyes were closed. He looked sort of pained. "Yeah," he said. Of course. He'd read that in the diary.

The bus was completely, eerily still. Nobody talked. Nobody moved. We just sat there, with the doors open, parked outside a cozy-looking bookshop. "Are we, uh, going to get out?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said again, and we stepped out on the street, and through the door of A.Z. Fell and Co., Booksellers.

**

Crowley's not-boyfriend was nothing like I expected. He was all... bright and comfortable, and smiley, in a slightly confused, slightly worried sort of way. 

"Crowley," he said as the demon entered the door, "I'm so glad you're all right. I really was quite worried, you know..." He broke off as I stepped in behind Crowley. "Oh, hello! And who is this?"

"Ava, Aziraphale. Aziraphale, Ava."

Well, that was a name I was going to have to work to remember. I repeated it to myself a couple of times, silently. Out loud, I said, "Hi." And then because he probably deserved it, too, whether or not I genuinely meant it, "Sorry I interrupted your movie night." 

"Oh, you're the one who summoned Crowley." He gave me a stern, fatherly look. "You really should _not_ be playing with such things. It isn't remotely safe. You're very lucky you only got Crowley and not someone much more sinister."

"Hey, I'm sinister!" said Crowley. Even though he'd basically said the exact same thing to me himself.

"Of course you are," Aziraphale said, and smiled at him. Yeah. Not-boyfriend, my arse. My dating experience may be minimal, but even I know that's not how you smile at your _friend_ -friends. But it passed in a moment, and his forehead wrinkled up a little as he looked back and forth between us. "And you brought her here because...?"

Crowley shrugged. "Wasn't a good place, where she was."

"Oh, I see." Aziraphale gave me a look that positively glowed with sympathy. But not the kind that makes you feel worse, like you're just there to be a receptacle for someone's pity. The nice kind, that makes you feel a little less alone. "I'm so sorry to hear it. Would you like some cocoa?"

"That sounds good, thanks," I said, because it did. And then, because it had become really, really obvious, "You are _definitely_ not a demon."

"Oh, no," he said. "Quite the opposite, really."

I thought about that for a moment. What's the opposite of a demon? When I got it, I felt positively stupid, because Crowley had been saying it all along, hadn't he? Either the realization or the feeling must have shown on my face, because they both gave me very amused looks. 

And here I thought my family was weird _before_.

Aziraphale started to say something else, but stopped as he caught sight of what Crowley was holding. "Oooh!' Yes, I swear, he actually said, _oooh_. With three "o"s. "You brought a book! Let me see."

"Oh," said Crowley. "Uh, yeah. No. It's... it's mine."

"Yours?" The angel – because, yeah, I was pretty sure that's what he was – looked confused. 

"Yep. Mine."

"Let me see it."

Crowley looked like he really, _really_ didn't want the angel to see it. He also looked like he couldn't bring himself to say no to him.

Aziraphale pried it out of his grip. "I'll bring the cocoa in a tick, my dear," he said to me. "Just let me take a little look at this first." He set the diary down carefully on a table, pulled on a pair of white gloves, and opened it up. Once again, it fell open at the pages with the demon-summoning ritual. "Oh, I see, this is what she used to summon you." He made a tsking noise. "This _definitely_ shouldn't be left in the hands of the general public. I'm afraid I shall have to confiscate it from you."

I started to protest, but Crowley gripped my arm, and for some reason I don't entirely understand, I stopped.

Aziraphale very carefully paged back to the beginning. 

Crowley let out another one of his noises.

"Oh," said Aziraphale. "I... _Oh_."

"I can explain," said Crowley.

"Goodness," said Aziraphale faintly. I went and peeked over his shoulder. Ah, yeah. The "mortal flesh made transcendent" stuff. He flipped a few more pages, found the picture of Crowley, and emitted a little squeak that would have been hilarious if it wasn't so embarrassing.

"Aziraphale..."

"Crowley. Go and fetch our young guest some cocoa. You know where it is."

He frowned, but he went. 

He was gone longer than I would have expected anybody would need to make cocoa. I kind of thought I could hear his head beating against a wall somewhere, but I wasn't entirely sure.

I stood there for a while, looking over the spines of the books – some of them actually looked pretty interesting, especially the occult ones – and watching the angel read.

Eventually he looked up. The expression in his eyes was soft and... complicated. Really, really complicated. "You look a little like him," he said. "Isn't that interesting."

"Didn't get the eyes," I said.

"Oh, but there is a lovely hint of amber in amongst the brown," he said. "One has only to look to see it."

"Thanks?" I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Look, whatever it is between you two, I..."

At that point, of course, Crowley came back in and shoved a mug of cocoa in my direction. He did it without taking his eyes off of Aziraphale, so I had to intercept it before it hit me in the face.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Aziraphale.

Crowley groaned a little. Or maybe it was more of a moan this time. 

This was starting to get kind of old. When you get whisked away from your boring life by your demon granddad, you really don't expect to immediately be plunged right back into the same kind of relationship stupidity you have to listen to every day at school. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Will you two just _talk_ to each other?"

"About what?" said the angel. "Really, it isn't any of my business."

Predictably, Crowley groaned. Again. 

Aziraphale at least seemed to know what this specific groan meant, though. "Fine," he said. "Come and talk."

They went into a different room, for some privacy.

I spied on them, because of course I did. Part demon, remember?

**

This is what they said to each other, as I peeked at them through an old-fashioned keyhole like some kind of spy-comedy cliché:

"Really, Crowley, it _isn't_ my business. I'm sorry. I should never have insisted on taking the book. I can see now that it was... it was private. Please do forgive me."

"No, it's. Angel, it's fine. I just..." Crowley ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up at strange angles. It looked kind of good on him, really. Maybe I should try doing my hair that way. "It's all a bit of a shock," he said, as if he were confessing something that wasn't already totally obvious.

"So you didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't know! Do you think I would have just walked off and left her if I knew?"

"The diary did say she tried to get in touch with you. Many times. So did her descendants, for that matter. They made notes, in the back. All of them tried the summoning at least once."

"Not sure why it didn't work before. Or why it suddenly did this time. Probably to do with not being under the protection of Hell anymore." Well, that was interesting information. Although I wasn't at all certain what to make of it.

"It is quite a weak spell," Aziraphale agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment. 

"I was asleep," Crowley mumbled, finally.

"Sorry?"

"I was asleep! She didn't find me because I went to sleep. It was... Look, we weren't talking, were we? We had that... that..."

"Tiff?" suggest Aziraphale.

"Bloody heaven, that's what you call a _tiff_?"

"Yes, it was a bit more than that," Aziraphale said. "Did I ever properly apologize? I really never should have doubted you."

"Nnk, it's all right."

"Only, well, the thought of losing you... I just couldn't..."

"We weren't talking, I was upset, I..."

"Found other people to fraternize with?" Aziraphale said, and there some weight, some soft, painful twist to those words that I didn't entirely understand. 

"Yeah." Crowley sounded deflated. 

"Well, no reason why you shouldn't have." Oh, god, that man's – being's? – _face_. It was killing me. "Although possibly you should have been a little more careful about the consequences."

"Yeah, wasn't really thinking straight there." He paused again, looking down at the floor. "She was great. Really... enthusiastic. Her, and the others. They were fun. And none of them helped me not be miserable. So I want to sleep. For a few decades."

"Ah."

They were silent for another long moment. Jesus Christ, I just found out angels and demons actually really existed and already I was fighting the urge to bash their heads together until they... What? Admitted they were in gay angel/demon love? Oh, man. I couldn't help imagining the look on the faces of some of the churchier foster parents I'd had if they only knew. I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling at the thought.

"What?" Crowley was saying.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're thinking something. I can _see_ you thinking it. Spit it out, angel."

"Well. It's all just such a surprise, that's all. Crowley. You had a _child_."

"Yeah." He said it almost too softly for me to make out. "Yeah. And I missed it." 

"Oh." Aziraphale's voice was quiet too. "Oh, _Crowley_."

"I slept through it, 'cause I was angry at _you_."

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry." He looked positively heartbroken. Some impulse in the back of my mind wanted to barge right in there and give him a hug, but I managed to resist.

Crowley looked like he might be resisting the same impulse. "No, no. It's not your fault, angel. It only happened in the first place 'cause I was angry at you, too. And because I'm a blessed idiot."

"Well. You have that child out there, now. Is she all right?"

"Dunno. Probably not, to be honest. Lost her folks, lives in a really shit-looking group home. Goes around summoning demons, so she definitely inherited my stupidity."

"It sounds as if she could use a friend."

Something inside me leapt up at that. Something pathetically hopeful.

"Yeah, probably."

"Well, then. You can... _we_ can be friends to her. If you like."

"Dunno, angel, we didn't do too well with the last kid." Okay. Okay, I was _definitely_ going to have to ask about the last kid.

"Well, he didn't turn out to be the Antichrist, so that's something."

They both laughed.

"Still really fucking weird, though," said Crowley. "To have an actual... What, descendant? It's a blessed good thing Hell doesn't feel they can come after me anymore, I can tell you that. They _really_ frown on reproducing with mortals without permission, and permission's almost impossible to get. Plus they want you to sign over your children's souls for eternity. In advance. Which is _really_ not in the proper spirit of things, if you ask me. I mean, where's the free will in that?"

"I must say, it certainly startled me," said Aziraphale. "I didn't even know you were..." He blushed. I swear to whatever god sent that idiot, he blushed. "That is to say, I... Well." He laughed, a nervous, stupidly fake sound. "Well, it's probably just as well I never realized you were interested in that sort of thing, you know, or goodness knows what I might have been tempted to." He laughed the same laugh again, and, Jesus, who did he think he was fooling? "That would hardly have gone well, would it?"

And here I'd thought Crowley had sputtered a lot before. He must have spent a good two or three minutes this time starting different words, and different sentences, and different syllables, and getting lost somewhere in the middle. All, "what..." and "angel..." and "you mean you _wanted_..." and "asdfjkjldfhklh..." and random bits of swearing.

Until, at about the point where I was ready to burst through the door and shout, "Oh, for fuck's sake, _just kiss him_!," he finally did.

**

I watched for a moment, until I decided it probably was kind of gross to watch your great-whatever grandfather snogging someone's face off, so I went and found a comfy chair to sit in and finished my cocoa.

I'd drunk it all, found the stuff to make another cup, and finished that one, too, before they came out again, looking a little disheveled, but happier.

"So sorry to have kept you waiting," said Aziraphale. "I don't know where my manners are."

"No problem," I said. I tried not to smirk, but I'm pretty sure I failed. I raised my empty cup. "I had cocoa. And I found a really interesting book on snakes."

"Oh," said the angel. "Good. Jolly good. So. Yes. Right. Do you think..." He looked back and forth between Crowley and me. "Perhaps you'd like to stay here? For a while?"

In a bookshop? Well, why not. Probably he had some living space somewhere, and even if he didn't, it still honestly felt homier than any place I'd lived since my parents died. I mean, I _like_ books. But that's assuming I'd even understood him right. "Do you mean me or him?"

"Oh, well..." He gave Crowley a shy look that was honestly pretty freaking adorable. "Both?"

"Okay," I said. Really, would living with an angel and a demon in a bookshop be all that much weirder than belonging to a family that made you try to summon demons and read about your multi-great-gran's sex life as a way to celebrate getting your period?

"Okay," said Crowley. 

God, no wonder they kicked him out of hell. No demon should ever be able to smile like that. He lit up the entire room, angel and all.

**

So. Did I say, back at the beginning, that I was the last member of my family? 

Yeah, you can forget about that. It isn't true. It never was. 

I may only be here on Earth for a short while, but my family? My family is going to last _forever_.

Of course, whether or not I ever have any kids, the demon-summoning tradition is definitely over. If I want the demon for anything now, all I have to do is ask, and usually he'll get up off the couch and help. 

I do still have one ceremony involving a demon left to attend, though. I'm really looking forward to it. 

They've told me I can be the one to hold the rings.


End file.
